And The Universe Smiled Down At Her That Night

She rubbed her eyes. They were dry. As if a cold dry winter spell had taken over a once happy village street. Just that way.

She was sitting in the snow. Her legs and bum nearly numb despite the layers upon layers of clothes. She wiggled her toes inside her scarlet wellies. It felt somewhat nice. The meadow was empty. Tall trees stood like melancholy guarding posts in the distance. She listened closely to the silence around her as the skies turned a shade of violet and the stars twinkled brightly in the clear skies.

She smiled to herself as she remembered him saying, "Everything will be alright!"

Impact of probably cliched words from someone who matters to you form like a keystone for the nearly ramshackle arch of one's emotions.

She got up and sang as she made her way back home.  Her balmy voice echoing ever so slightly making the stars smile down at her, "Are we all loost staaars, Trying to liight up theee daaark!"

Cast Me In Concrete

That subdued light and the water of the lake reflecting a tinge of orange on the ash grey concrete facade. Soft halogen lamps lit up a stairway beautifully cut into the sloping terrain, leading to a deck where wind swept my hair as I looked at the expanse of the lush green hills echoing serenity and calm, in the distance.

There was something about that place. Its sublimeness of the structure tried to compete against that of the hills. Wild grass, yellowing in the autumn swayed at the banks of the lake with the gentle wind making them dance to a silent tune.

I smiled at myself as the sun dipped down and the colours of the sky being reflected in the lake, turned from a mild orange to a vibrant yet soft pink blending into the hues of a subtle violet. My legs lay sprawled in front of me.

"The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night."

Haruki Murakami

Lets Hum Along

The bus stopped in that ghost village in the middle of nowhere, the name of the village was Chillas, somewhere in the midst of the bosom of a rugged barren mountainous terrain. I wanted to slide open the window of the bus but dust got into my eyes and nose making it impossible to breathe and see after a while.

I distinctly recall that being blinded by the scorching sun rays and choking on at least a handful of glacier sand, I found a small firefly ignite somewhere deep within me, being cupped ever so gently by an uplifting sense of presence. The presence of my being.

I closed my eyes as my heart filled with a warm glow that had ignited a profound idea, that somewhere down the road, there will be no sandstorms to clog my throat and if I get lucky I might wake up next morning to find myself lying in a boat gliding upon clear turquoise waters and a puff of air would carry cherry blossom petals along.

Surging Bliss

She drew out the penknife that she carried in her bag in a most calm manner, but the fiery furnace of her warm brown eyes gave away the love she felt right at that moment for her year old son who was bundled warmly and sat plopped like a boulder in some Japanese garden, acting like the ying to her yang.

She cut the apple into small slices and handed it to him one by one.

Gul was so oblivious of her surroundings that she might as well have been sitting on the side of a busy road than the bustling airport terminal.

Looking at him, her heart surged with exploding bliss while she smiled down at him.

Climb On

Her eyes were welled up with tears. She couldn’t see clearly as to where she was going. The wind slapped her tear stained cheeks as she tried to wipe her nose on the grubby sleeve of her sweater than had changed from a bright red to a dull crimson, as that of clotted blood sprinkled by dust. Her loose bun loosened more as she climbed her. Strands of chocolate brown hair swashed against her face every now and the. Her straight, pointy nose was red at the tip from the chill in the air and the storm that howled inside of her. Her foot slipped as the gradient of the hill got steeper. She slid down a foot or two as she tried grabbing on to the earth, pulling out tufts of grass while making an attempt and managing to get quite an amount of the sweet deep brown earth stuck in between her fingernails as well as into the herringbone knit of her sweater’s sleeve.

She saw a bit of a rugged rock jutting out, covered with moss. She pulled herself on top of it, her feet dangling down into the air. She stared straight into the sky thickened with layers upon layers of clouds. The tears had dried up by now, her heart had calmed down a bit too. She picked up a daisy from a bunch that grew on her right, next to the rock. Closed her eyes lightly and brought the flower right under her nose. One could see her taking the scent in. and she thought to herself. “All in all, today went by well!”

Asha smiled to herself as the wind sang her a silent sweet melody. A smile that said: come what may, I’ll make it through one way or the other.

Puddles and Stories

She wasn’t born on a bleak January night and it wasn’t pouring either, but that’s how she liked to imagine it was when she was born.

The sun had just set. A faint hint of an orange tinge in the horizon showed that the sun was here a while back. The air was heavy with moisture and everything seemed pregnant, the air pregnant with moisture, the horizon pregnant with the on setting night and Zinnia pregnant with her baby. Pregnant to the point that it all seemed ready to brim over any minute. Partially it was Zinnia’s imagination and partially it all was true, because that’s how monsoons in Lahore make one feel anyway, especially one who is not accustomed to the uninvited guest that the weather like playing the role of.

She poked her finger into the ground, turning it by bending the lower bit into an L. she seemed to be looking for something in there. She took out the finger that had turned all muddy with the monsoon rain lazily pattered away as if it had all the time in the world and whispered to her between the plip and the plop, “This isn’t your land, this isn’t your story.”